Vacation

Please excuse my 'vacation.' We've barely begun and I have already taken off (for those that know me, I'm sure you are thinking, 'typical.') I assure you, my week off has not been entirely pleasant. In fact, I would say it was a melancholy week, marked by spectacular events. Go figure.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...Here's the week's recap, with a different number to represent each day I've been MIA:

10: Although the week ahead would be difficult to say the least, my first night in town couldn't have been more magical. As noted the last time I wrote, Cate and Abe were high school school sweethearts who married after ten years together. The genuine love they have for each other is evident. The two embody the expression "I'm in in love with my best friend" and for their first dance they did a choreographed number to prove it.

I did in fact refer to Jo as my partner (despite my hesitation); however, seeing my two old friends celebrate their future together only enhanced my own desire to move forward with my other half. It was the kind of night which reminds you that you are Lucky to be in love.

67:

I spent day two of my trip making the rounds you must when most of your family lives within a three block radius. It was that evening that kept me going. I had plans to meet up with some of my favorite college friends: Lillian, Six (yes, like in Blossom), and Bean (every good lesbian has a nickname.) Bean was even bringing her new girl and we were all pumped to meet her. (Before I get too serious, she really was fabulous...yay, Bean!)

I could not wait to see the girls but knew there would be a cloud hanging over us.

Six had spent the day prior laying her Nan to rest. Nan was 67 years old. It struck me as so young. My own grandmother was 80; grandpa even older. That night I saw the pain in Six' eyes and listened intensely as Lil has the epiphany that life really must go on. We laughed harder that night than I had in a long time. And we cried.

It was a hard evening but probably one of the most real I've had in a long time. I suppose it's the hard times that make you realize who means the most.

80:

I was just about to recap the time I spent with my grandmother during my vacation week. My laptop was open and my fingers were on the keyboard when the phone rang. Grandpa was on the other end, sobbing. It was not an unexpected phone call; however, the pit in my stomach was deeper than I could have imagined. My blog would have to wait; I had to fly home and say goodbye to my Grandma.

What should I call her?

I'm in the airport waiting for my flight to board. First off, please ignore any typos as this is my first official post from my new blogger app and I'm still adjusting to the new technology. Second of all,
I'm so glad you guys are enjoying my rants and raves... Keep the comments coming- very encouraging!

Anyway, I'm headed back home for an old friend's wedding. I've known Cate since the fifth grade when we both wore Catholic school girl uniforms. We originally got acquainted because I told on her for talking in the bathroom.... I must have been intimated by the curly haired blond girl or I was just a bitch; regardless, we are close after all the years and tonight I will see her marry her high school sweetheart.... So exciting!

Drinking my required pre-flight screwdriver, I got to thinking about my own sweetheart. Jo won't be able to make it to this evening's nuptials (thanks to my little sis for playing wingman.) We are at that age though where she will undoubtedly come up.

I hear it now, "So Iz, what are you doing now?"

It should be noted that not everyone at this event will know that I'm gay. Most have not met Jo. Answering this question becomes a bit of a balancing act. It all comes down to who I'm speaking with.

My Partner: I almost feel uncomfortable using this expression. She is completly my partner in every sense of the word but we have yet to "make it official." Although I feel that calling her my partner might give the impression that we are "married," there are times when I will use it anyway. A certain generation will just not understand my lifestyle if I use the term "girlfriend."

As Cate and her Cuban love become man and wife, I will continue to call Jo my gf/partner until I too can call my love my wife... Or at least until I can upgrade to fiancé.

Planes about to take off... Until tomorrow....

Lesbian Without Lunch

In this daily closeted journey, there are good and bad days. Sometimes Jo is home for a long weekend, other nights I'm all alone. That is the life of the military and I'm slowly getting comfortable with the role of Navy 'wife' (not that anything is official.) Today is a bad, well more disappointing. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but here goes.

I've taken on the role of housewife and my afternoons in the kitchen have come to feel therapeutic. Picking up Gourmet magazine and watching Giada at Home, I've learned the basics and stolen some great recipes. If I do say so myself, I'm getting pretty good. Yesterday, I even baked muffins.

I love this new role and take pride in my daily creations (both on the page and in our bellies.) Each evening after the kitchen is cleaned and dishwasher started, I prepare Jo's lunch for the next day. Call me old-fashioned but I enjoy caring for her after a long day. She spent the day working hard in uniform, the least I can do is prepare a nutritious, delicious mid-day meal. I alternate between packing her blue lunchbox and my black and white plaid lunchbag.

I digress. Back to bad days....

This morning I opened the refrigerator to see this afternoon's lunch sitting where I had placed it last night. I immediately got excited; I can bring it to her at lunchtime and we can spend the extra thirty minutes together. That feeling sunk; we are in the Navy. I do not exist and even acting as a roommate, I could never get on base.

It seems insignificant to most of you, I'm sure. Particularly, if you are straight. The thing is it's another one those moments when I am forced to remember that we're not like everybody else. According to the military of this country, the healthy, happy relationship that Jo and I have only exists behind the gates of our apartment community.

Jo will just have to get something from the cafeteria. And I will go back into therapy, perhaps today with Paula Deen.

Name the Dream

At the end of June, I packed up our studio, took the pups to our favorite groomer and planned a night out to say farewell. Following a week of rest 'down the shore,' my two sisters, two puppies and I packed up my old gold Lexus and drove to meet my girlfriend at our new home. Jo went active duty earlier this year and I stayed back to wrap up lose ends before I relocated. Unfortunately, I will not disclose the location due to DADT, but it is certainly a change of pace.

Since I accompanied Jo, I have been wearing an invisible poncho to shield the hurricane of questions. Everyone loves to ask 'So what are you doing?' or 'What are you going to now?' I've been avoiding the phone, Facebook chat, and even evenings out with new friends. It wasn't until last weekend that I realized I've perpetuated this worry and concern from my friends and loved ones.

Jo's best friend from college was in town and we were catching up over cocktails at one of the local bars. Bryn is an Irish beauty, retired track star and driven grassroots activist. Wearing a track t-shirt from their alma mater, Brynny was approached by a middle-aged balding bar-fly with a lame attempt to introduce himself. Turns out they know the same athletic trainer and Baldy had a great Mexican restaurant suggestion for dinner: totally worth the awkward scene of his flirting attempt.

He eventually turned the conversation away from the grassroots runner to me "And what are you doing down here?"

"Me?" I giggled, "I unpack, lay by the pool. I'm trying to write."

He smiled sympathetically and threw out an unconvincing, "Good for you." As he walked away, the barrage began.

"You need to own your writing, Missy." Bryn instructed. I was speechless and she was right. "You have talent and the time. Now, harness your vision and do it!"

My inability to take ownership for 'what I'm doing down here' has been a theme since I moved. I make jokes, act awkward and never, ever tell anyone that I have a grand plan. But the truth is, I've started my novel (well, again) and freelance projects, joined the state writer's association and signed up for an upcoming conference. I don't know why I can not confidently declare, "I am a writer." It did take me six and a half years after my first girl-on-girl kiss to call myself a lesbian; I suppose I attach labels at a slightly slower pace.

This weekend, I found an awesome quote in "The Advocate." Dustin Lance Black, using a Harvey Milk metaphor, inspires, "The only ways we've ever made advances are when we've named the dream. Not the crumbs, not the little pieces around the edges. You have got to name the dream, or you'll never get it."

Hmm....my dream? Through writing, I would like to continue the quest towards equal rights for all and unify the gay community by bringing them out of the closet and into a more mainstream light.

Ok, Dustin and Harvey. I am a writer. Now, I just need the backbone to say it with confidence and the momentum to achieve the dream.

The Great Healthcare Debate

Here we are, the end of July and instead of enjoying the lazy, hazy days of summer, we all seem to be worried about healthcare. How should we solve the great crisis facing this country? Well, I'll admit, I'm more caught up with the outcome of the 'beer discussion' at Barack's.

What I am worried about is my own healthcare debate. On Friday, my insurance with will run out (since my contract ended at the end of June.) The federal government will subsidize a good percentage of my Cobra (extended insurance coverage when you are unemployed) but the cost would still be an additional monthly payment in an already tight budget of a Millennial.

Whoa is me:( I can't marry into the Navy insurance which is a shame with Barack's recent announcement of Federal employee benefits extended to same sex couples. As my girlfriend would say, "What gets more Federal than the Navy?"

To pay for Cobra or live on the edge?

Unless, we found another (male) Navy couple in the same debate. Double wedding? Hmmm...Bad idea?

Indulge Your Cravings

I'm watching the Today Show which honestly educates me on so many levels. Who would have thought? I can make dinner, crafts and start my own small company all from a morning with Matt, Meredith, Al, Anne and Natalie:) This morning they even did a segment on Provincetown! Jeez...the life of a housewife has really sucked me in...

I just saw a commercial which indicated I should indulge my cravings...I realized for the first time in my life, I am. It's not what you think though. I've always viewed both "indulge" and "cravings" to be bad things as I'm sure you do. However, I'm indulging my inner creative cravings. My craving to take a plunge, a risk and become everything I'm hoping to be. I sat at my desk job with a drowning feeling, suffocating in an 8 x 8 beige box, a soft buzzing PC in the corner of my L-shaped desk. I abandoned job security, health insurance and my private space of office space to Indulge My Craving. I've never felt better and I think I may have found a preventive measure for depression: enjoy your life.

I hope I don't sound arrogant; I just realized this might be received as bragging, but that is not my intent! I share this nugget hoping to encourage others to take the plunge. The fact is, while I loved the security that came with the over-sized copier down the hall, following my heart (and off-limits Navy Girl-gay, shh!) was scary and overwhelming, but the best move I've ever made. Indulging your cravings is supposed to be deliciously dangerous, is it not?

Marriage is not a word - it is a sentence.

I apologize that I have not written. I could blame the holidays or my hectic social calendar during the month of December. The truth is, I got scared.

About a month ago, I had the unfortunate experience of being the 'subject' of someone's blog. A 'friend' shared intimate details of a particularly bad day, and proceeded to use my bad day as a platform to depict her own thoughts and feelings. It was hurtful and inconsiderate, thus I grew nervous continuing my own writing. I never want any of you to feel as exposed as I did. Although I plan to expose myself through my writing, that is my choice, on my time clock and I decide which dirty little details to include.

Ironically, at the time this so called 'friend' published her blog, I had been drafting a disclaimer (see below: written in early December, pre-mean blog incident):

In a recent brainstorming session, I had an epiphany which drastically changes my first novel. I won't give away too much, as I want you to read with vigor when you are finally bestowed an advanced copy; but I did want to devote my blog today to a discussion of "Sensitive Subject Matter" that may appear.

Although this topic came up regarding my novel, I think it is extremely applicable to my blog, perhaps even more so. Many writers naturally draw from life experience; however, my first novel will be written in memoir form, so you can imagine how real this is going to get. I can't promise you will always like what I have to say, how I say it, or the fact that you (any of you) came up at all. I came up with this disclaimer: You might come on one day to read my thoughts and find me 'thinking' (writing publicly on my blog) about you. I ask for forgiveness if I crack jokes at your expense. I ask for forgiveness if I paint you through my creative lens and it is not the same way you view yourself. If I do any of the aforementioned while blogging, feel free to post a comment. Who knows, maybe we'll find that we enjoy the banter as much as Rosie and Elisabeth did on the View. Just don't kick me off the show if you don't like what I have to say.

Bizarre, right? I can't even take the irony of the whole thing. I was so hurt when I visited her blog, hours after this girl left my house, and had to re-live the whole bad day. In the event that any of you read the distasteful 'Examination of the M Word,' I ask that you remember: Marriage is not a word - it is a sentence.

Don't worry, my friends (the real ones, you know who you are.) I have learned a great deal from this experience. I am not the type to crack jokes anyway! Nor will I use your personal experience for my shameless entertainment. I write from the heart and will continue to do so. But never at your expense.

I leave you with the following (I guess this is my own 'Examination of the M(arriage) Word'), courtesy of Mark Twain:

"After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside it without her. ~Adam, in Adam's Diary